Lamklok
by Lemon Icee
Summary: Takes place after season 2 finale. Ofdensen wakes up in high security federal prison, charged with unlawful neglect of Dethklok. Other things will happen when I think of them.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: I'm back with another Ofdensen-centered story! Well the finale really kind of warranted one. What a great episode! But I won't gush. I didn't want to do just another Ofdensen-wakes-up-after-beating story, I wanted to create a whole new twist. So here it is! I hope it translates well, if it doesn't make sense, please don't hesitate to say so._

_I hope you enjoy!_

_I don't own these people and the places are pretty much all made up._

* * *

"Welcome to the national news at 6, I'm Emily Nakahara with breaking news regarding the highly anticipated release of the latest Dethklok album." The television blared through voice-altering static, flashing images of flames and burning bodies. "It has been confirmed that there has been a massive fire at the Dethklok manor. Authorities suspect it was a case of arson committed by unruly fans late last night, but Channel Nine has an exclusive story tonight on the recent arrest of Dethklok manager, Charles Foster Ofdensen. Authorities will not confirm whether this arrest is related to the arson, nor will they verify the rumor that the Dethklok record was destroyed in the fire. Stay tuned, because after the break Channel Nine's own Don Pope will be sitting down with a former Dethklok janitor who says he once saw Mr. Ofdensen, walking down a hall. Should be enlightening, stick around."

* * *

Charles Foster Ofdensen was once again surprised at what he saw when he woke up. He was accustomed to opening his eyes to the profits of his difficult line of work, manifested in nice things around him. Satin drapes, Persian rugs, gold plated mirrors, these were luxuries that were painfully absent from his new residence. Instead, what he saw when he put on his glasses was a stark concrete wall, and to his right, an uncomfortable bed identical to the one he lay in, occupied by a truly massive man known only as Tonto. It had been three painful days and four restless nights he had spent in North Texas high security prison, and he still had only a vague theory as to what he was doing there.

The memories of the release night were blurry for Ofdensen. He only knew that he had passed out just after Nathan had arrived, his savior, and then woken up alone in a hospital room. The place had seemed far too sterile, even for an emergency room, and it had given him a chill down his spine, a sensation he thought he'd outgrown since the second year as Dethklok's manager. He had not felt good in that room. It was obvious that whoever had tended to him did not finish the job. Though his arrow wound was bandaged and his broken ribs bound, the numerous cuts on his arms and chest were left untouched, as was the more noticeable gash on his left cheek. He was still covered in bruises and the slightest movements virtually paralyzed him with pain. He had lain in that bed for a few hours before someone had come in, to inform him that he was to be discharged from the facilities and was being transported to a federal prison.

The lawyer in Ofdensen protested. As he was roughly moved from hospital bed to prison transport, he forcefully cited all the court cases he could think of that would make his arrest unjust. But no one was listening, and it was maddening. They only told him, as he was dumped into a small prison cell, that he would be called for interrogation in a week. That was seven days ago. Ofdensen could only assume, as he painfully removed himself from bed, that the interrogation would commence today.

He took a minute to breath before trying to stand up. Moving at all had been a necessary chore all week. His ribs screamed in pain every time he breathed. In the crowded prison, his battered body was jostled about like a rag doll. Almost every man in the place had at least one hundred pounds on Ofdensen, and the ones that didn't were generally the rapists, whom he would rather avoid. He would prefer to avoid just about everyone in fact. On the first day in the prison he had been shoved against a wall by a gruff looking man covered in tattoos.

"You dat Ofdensen guy?" The man was chewing some very pungent tobacco, and he flecked dark colored spit on Ofdensen's bruised face. Another man standing behind Ofdensen's assailant chimed in, "Yeah dat's him Mikey, he's da one what made the Dethklok album late."

Ofdensen's mind had then removed itself from the present danger he was in, and onto a more managerial line of thought. Why was the album late? This wasn't good at all, there would be wide-scale riots, the media would be all over the boys, and he wasn't there to tell them what to – A sudden punch in the stomach had brought an end to his worrying.

Since then, the entire prison (Dethklok fans all) had been giving him death threats. He received the occasional beating, quickly broken up by guards, but frequent enough to ensure that he ended the week in worse health than he had begun it. He could only hope, as he sat on the edge of his rock hard bed, that the interrogation would go well, this would turn out to all be a huge misunderstanding, and he would be sent back home, to Dethklok, without a fuss.

Then he would sue the whole fucking system for all it was worth.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: Um, still not sure where I'm going with this, but I guess I'll just continue this stream of consciousness writing and hope I don't bore you all along the way._

_Disclaimer (Haiku form): There is no one here / I call my own invention / I'm no Ben Franklin_

* * *

The day proceeded normally.

Every minute of the fresh hell he had been thrust unceremoniously into played out as if this day was just like any other. Ofdensen checked the clock every five minutes, always expecting to be called down to the warden's office for his interrogation to commence. But there was no PA announcement, no gesture from the guard, no men in suits dragging him to a blank room with a table and a single ceiling lamp and a two way mirror. He got up, he went through shit, he lay back in his bed again. Nursing a bite wound from one of the more mentally unstable inmates, Ofdensen could feel himself losing his cool. He stared up at the ceiling with dead eyes and hours passed. He needed to get out.

Then there was the familiar creak of his heavy iron door being opened. Ofdensen sat up and spun himself so that he was sitting on the edge of his bed, looking to see who the intruder was. Flanked by two huge military stooges, General Crozier ambled in.

"Hello there Charles, you're looking…" Crozier looked at Ofdensen and raised an eyebrow "…well." Ofdensen strangled an instinctual urge to punch the general. That wasn't proper, that wouldn't get him what he needed. It was in situations such as these that Ofdensen excelled. Negotiations.

"I assume you're here to conduct the interrogation." Said Ofdensen matter-of-factly. "I should tell you that any information I disclose come with the cost of my release." He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and stood up.

"Well now, I don't think you're in any position to be setting terms here Charles." Said Crozier smugly. "It looks to me like you're up a creek without a paddle. And you sure as hell don't look like you're up for a swim." Ofdensen glared at this remark. He hated looking powerless. Without his suit, in an orange short-sleeve jumpsuit, he felt ridiculous. And the fact that his face and arms were still covered in cuts and bruises did nothing to up his confidence. Crozier, fat and healthy as he was, painted a much more dominant picture.

Crozier and his cronies led Ofdensen out of his cell and through a series of hallways marked with signs that read "OFFICIAL PERSONEL ONLY". Finally the men entered a small room, but not quite the one Ofdensen had imagined it would be. There was no table, there were plenty of florescent lights overhead, and the walls seemed to be all solid stone.

There was a chair.

Crozier gestured for Ofdensen to sit in it, and he complied although it made him uneasy. Crozier stood directly in front of Ofdensen, so that his bulging stomach was eye level with him. The stooges stood on either side of the single door. One of the lights flickered.

"This is where we will be conducting the interrogation?" Asked Ofdensen dubiously. The room seemed hardly catered to that task.

"Did we really use the word interrogation?" Asked Crozier. "I think what we meant was prosecution. Charles Foster Ofdensen, you have been charged and convicted of unlawful negligence of Dethklok and its subsidiaries, and we don't give a rat's ass how you plead."

Ofdensen stared in disbelief. He opened his mouth to protest but Crozier cut him off.

"I don't know if you are aware that, thanks to your lack of foresight, the new Dethklok album has been lost, beyond repair, to that goddamn fire. The United Nations security council has judged you to be entirely responsible for the fiasco that occurred that night, deeming that it was your responsibility to ensure the safe release of the record. The record is gone, the world has erupted in chaos, it's not safe to walk the streets of any metropolitan area anymore. Crime rates have gone up five thousand percent, thanks to you." Crozier stopped at last to take a breath. "The decided sentence is death. Public execution."

There was a silence as Ofdensen absorbed this information. All he could think about was, where were the boys? Were they safe?

"There has to be a scapegoat." Crozier's voice took on a softer tone. "And we've decided it's you. God knows it was as much our fault as it was yours. But it's easier to solve a problem when it's a single guy, as opposed to the entire global governing body."

"And where is Dethklok?" Ofdensen asked, his voice unsettlingly calm.

"They were removed from the scene shortly after your arrest. Taken in the Dethcopter by some klokateers and a few military officials. Don't worry," he said, seeing Ofdensen's expression, "They're plenty safe."

It was then that a deafening sound from above ripped through the air. All four men looked up to see the ceiling being torn from its place by some unknown force, and rain poured down on them from a now uncovered sky. The sound was deafening, and Ofdensen recognized it: copter blades.

A rope ladder was thrown down to the stony floor, and Ofdensen immediately jumped up onto it and climbed furiously. There were shout from below, but his eyes were ever looking up, hoping to glimpse a familiar face he hadn't seen for a week.

There one was. Pickles' long red hair was being blown to ridiculous angles as he leaned out the side of the Dethcopter. "Hurry!" He yelled anxiously, watching Ofdensen scramble up.

But adrenaline alone could not combat the grievous injuries Ofdensen's body had suffered the past week. And Ofdensen had barely eaten anything since he had entered prison. His hands were not able to grip the ladder well, and as the air grew colder as he ascended, the problem worsened. The rain cut into him like ice-cold pin pricks, and bullets flew past him. One nicked him in the shoulder and he almost lost his hold entirely. He stopped climbing and clung to the ladder, trying to regain his breath and strength. Below, Crozier's cronies were climbing the ladder as well, and they were quick. From the opposite end of the ladder, Nathan and Skwisgaar were climbing down to get Ofdensen to safety.

A cronie grabbed his leg. Nathan grabbed his hand. There was a long moment when Ofdensen was being torn apart. Finally Skwisgaar managed to kick the military man in the face, sending him freefalling down and colliding sickeningly with the ground below. Nathan somehow managed to swing Ofdensen around onto his back, and carried the manager up the rest of the way. Skwisgaar followed quickly, and once the three men were safely in the copter, Pickles cut the rope ladder. The second stooge, who had not been far behind, fell to his gory death below.

Ofdensen and Nathan lay on their backs, panting and soaking wet.

"Thank…you…Nathan," said Ofdensen between gasps. "I guess I owe you double now." Nathan Explosion grunted poetically and stood up on unsteady feet.

"So…where to now?" Asked Pickles of Ofdensen, handing him a towel.

"Well, I assume wherever you were before should do fine…" Ofdensen had not been expecting to be put in charge so abruptly, although it was a welcome change of pace, finally feeling in control of things again.

"We can'ts go back theres." Said Skwisgaar solemnly. "We are, de outcasts, de lone wolfs of dis world."

Ofdensen stood uneasily and looked down at the passing landscapes below. He'd almost forgotten how weird this job was.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Ummmmmmmmm it's been a really long time. I kind of gave up on this one for a while because I didn't know where it was going. I still don't. But here is another chapter.....for anyone who still cares at all. Maybe if anyone does care, leave a review (maybe with ideas?) and I'll keep writing. If not, this may be it....

Thanks to everyone for all your kind reviews and support and everything! I can't wait for the next season to come out!

* * *

The trip back to Mordhaus was long and confusing, as each band member attempted to explain, in their own unique way, what had happened after Ofdensen had been arrested. Glossing over Toki's continuous high-pitched murmurs and compiling various facts stuck haphazardly between grand hyperboles made by the rest of the band, Ofdensen was able to ascertain a general series of events. As Crozier had said, they were taken by both military forces and Klokateers. At some point Nathan had ordered the Klokateers to kill the troops, mid-air, and the resulting scuffle left only one loyal Dethklok employee alive – the pilot (fortunately). Satisfied by the outcome of the airborne battle, Dethklok had instructed the pilot to fly them to every federal prison in the country in search of Ofdensen.

"And well, luckily you were in like the third one we checked," said Pickles, whose explanations generally made the most sense and therefore merited the majority of Ofdensen's attention. "But that's why it took us like a week to come get you, in case you were wondering."

"I understand entirely," said Ofdensen in an elevated voice, as Toki and Skwisgaar continued ranting in broken English.

The dethkopter, approaching the still smoldering remains of the once great Mordhaus, slowed to a stagnant hover above.

"What are we doing here?" yelled Murderface, whose voice could never sound friendly when directed at Ofdensen. "This isch the SCHENE of the crime! You schtupid dildo!"

Ofdensen had long learned to tune out most of Murderface's insults and therefore answered coolly, "I need to recover some important legal documents before we can continue. They are in a fireproof vault in the lower levels of the building. We won't stay long." He assured the nervous group. "Keep it running," he added to the pilot, and descended down the dangling rope ladder.

The building was completely destroyed. Whole floors had caved in, leaving gaping crevasses and smoldering debris everywhere. The ceiling as it had once been no longer existed. There was nothing but cold night air above them as they six men made their way down precariously damaged staircases and through cluttered hallways. A few dead bodies littered each room. The smell was unbearable.

Finally the group found itself where the small in-house hospital used to be, now a dismantled, open-air room with none of the sterile quality it once had. The check-up table was still there, however. And, sitting nonchalantly upon it, the doctor. It was a creepy scene to behold: the doctor perched on the edge of his examination table, kicking his legs in a child-like manner and sucking on a lollipop. Ofdensen frowned, then cleared his throat.

The doctor whipped around and, seeing the puzzled group before him, let his draw drop and his sucker fall to the ground.

"Charles! What are you doing here?" He asked incredulously.

"I think I will take the liberty of asking you first," said Ofdensen.

"Oh," the Doctor shrugged a little, his slightly nasal voice sounding indifferent, "I was just sitting on the table here," he gestured at his seat, "waiting for that piece of the ceiling to fall down and crush me." The whole room looked upwards where indeed there was a rather hazardous segment of roofing dangling dangerously above them.

"Frankly," said the doctor, still unnervingly calm, "I've been waiting for the roof to fall down on me since I started working here, but the possibility hadn't seemed very real until recently."

Ofdensen didn't really know what to say to that, so he decided to ignore it, a common strategy of his.

"You look pretty awful Charles," the doctor continued, hopping off the table and inspecting one of Charles' exposed arms. Ofdensen needed to get out of the goddamn jumpsuit. Pulling himself away from the concerned physician, Ofdensen made his way to the vault, a small black box hidden in a closet just off the hospital ward. Lifting it with some strain, he shuffled back into the room where Nathan took the box so Ofdensen wouldn't have to carry it.

"Thank you, Nathan," said Ofdensen, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose once more. Nathan was quickly becoming his favorite. "Now, this is everything we'll need for now, it has access codes to offshore Swiss bank accounts not linked to Dethklok or myself, so we should have some money for the time being."

"But where are we gonna go, we can't schtay here!" Murderface yelled. A few ceiling tiles crumbled.

"Well, for now we can go to my house."

Ofdensen's statement was met with a long pause and blank stares.

"You…have a house?" asked Pickles.

"Yes of course I have a house. It's a very good investment." Ofdensen made his way to the door, and the band followed obediently. "And it's very private, so we'll have a chance to regroup there and figure out what our next move is going to be."

He paused at the doorway, looking back.

"Are you coming?" He asked the doctor.

The doctor looked up from the floor, where he was inspecting his dropped lollipop.

"Who, me?" He asked in surprise. "Well, I told you, I was going to just wait here…" he gestured at the ceiling vaguely.

Ofdensen gave a slightly patronizing frown.

"I would much prefer it if you came with us. If you're found here, it could be a great liability for us. And frankly, I have a few medical aggravations that I would rather be seen to by a private physician."

The doctor shrugged, gave on last longing glace at the precarious ceiling, and followed Ofdensen and Dethklok out of the room.

As soon as they left, they heard the indistinguishable sound of a ceiling caving in, undoubtedly crushing everything beneath it in a blow that would sure have killed any human sitting in that room. The doctor swore under his breath.


End file.
